


Of Husbands and Murder

by everydayistuesday



Series: Their Love Was Real [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, M/M, Murder, Murder Husbands, One-Shot, TheirLoveWasReal, serial killer au, yes I put both of those tags together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29496681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everydayistuesday/pseuds/everydayistuesday
Summary: Dean had a great life. He worked as a mechanic during the day, and he loved his job. Every evening, he came home to his husband. Said husband made some fucking awesome pie. On weekends, he played DnD with his best friend. His brother called him at least once a week from college.And, of course, he was a serial killer.Written for the prompt “Noir” for Their Love Was Real.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Their Love Was Real [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160483
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33
Collections: Their Love Was Real: a Destiel & Saileen Fanworks Challenge





	Of Husbands and Murder

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the day three prompt “Noir.” Not edited yet, but I will do that.

Dean had a great life. 

  
He worked as a mechanic during the day, and he loved his job. Every evening, he came home to his husband. Said husband made some fucking awesome pie. On weekends, he played DnD with his best friend. His brother called him at least once a week from college.

  
And, of course, he was a serial killer. 

Late at night, sometimes Dean would get an itch that he had to scratch. A thirst that couldn’t be quenched. Nothing else did it. The only thing that sated it were the pained screams of whoever he had tied to his chair and the blood that spilled across the warehouse floor. The only thing that truly satisfied him was cleaning up after, seeing the flecks of blood mixed in with his freckles, and the dangerous glint in his eyes. 

When he got home and the itch was scratched, he’d crawl back into bed, and in the morning, Cas would be none the wiser that he had ever been gone, and life continued. 

Change someone’s oil. Fix the brakes on a Toyota. Come home covered in grease. Take a shower. Steal kisses from his husband. Hang out with Charlie on weekends. Jokingly remind Sam not to go to any keggers. Off someone. Repeat. Such was the life of Dean Winchester. 

This time, the itch came in the middle of January. 

Like most November days, it was blustery and cold. Dean liked it that way. If someone off the streets went missing, well, it would be assumed that they froze to death. Days would pass before the body would be found, marked and warranting a front page headline. Easier for him. 

“Boy! You got any spark plugs there?” 

“Uh….” Dean glanced around the area where he was working. “Nope. Sorry, Bobby.” 

“Balls. We’re out.” 

“What do you need them for?” Dean asked, turning back to the engine he was working with. “Someone need theirs replaced?” 

Bobby leveled him with a glare from beneath his baseball cap. “No, I wanna turn ‘em into a necklace.  _ Yes, a customer needs them.” _

Dean raised his hands in surrender. “Woah. Didn’t know if you were just asking for inventory.” 

__

“Since when do I do inventory? That’s Kevin’s job. He’s got exams, though, so he’s preoccupied at the moment.” 

“He didn’t leave a list?” 

Bobby huffed. “He did, but I can’t read it.” 

Dean straightened up, wiping his hands on a towel. “Here, let me see.” 

Bobby raised an eyebrow at him. “You think you can crack it.” 

“How hard can it be?” Dean scoffed. “I had to read Sammy’s handwriting for years, I think I can manage Kev’s.” 

Bobby grumbled something under his breath, moving towards his office. 

Dean watched him disappear behind a large truck. When he was alone, the thirst came back, more persistent than it had been. 

_ Tonight,  _ Dean figured. He’d take care of it tonight. Just a few more hours of his shift, he’d see Cas, then he’d grab someone off the streets and parch his thirst. 

Bobby came back and shoved a notebook into Dean’s hands. “Still think you can read it?”

Dean squinted at the— was that even writing? “The hell?” 

“Exactly,” Bobby said. 

“That’s not writing, it’s chicken scratch,” Dean said, shoving the notebook back at him. “Tell Kevin to type his notes instead.”

The day continued. Dean fixed a set of taillights on a pickup truck, changed the oil on a Honda, had to deal with some broken brakes on a Prius. By the time his shift was over, he was covered head to toe in grease. Just another day on the job. 

  
After toweling the worst of it off, Dean gave Bobby a wave and made his way outside. 

Singer’s Auto and Parts consisted of a large, out of the way garage that connected to a small room Bobby used as his office, a large parking lot out back for the cars they were fixing up, and a cracked stretch of asphalt where the employees parked. Not the most glamorous, but then again, neither was Dean. 

He ducked into the Impala, the corner of his mouth turning up as her engine rumbled. The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant oranges, inky purples, and all the shades in between. Rush hour had just ended, leaving the streets emptying of cars but not deserted. Led Zeppelin blaring, Dean pulled out onto the road, headed for home. 

He missed every red light, and within fifteen minutes, was pulling into the driveway and parking the car.

Cas was already inside, curled up on the couch, papers spread out on the coffee table in front of him. He looked up when Dean came in and smiled. “Hello, Dean.” 

Dean smiled back. “Hey, Cas. ‘Nother essay?” 

Cas shook his head. “Creative writing. Some of them are very good. Actually, I’m rather impressed by a number of them. This one, on the other hand….” 

“Well, lemme take a shower, and then I’ll rescue you. Deal?” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Cas said. “Please, hurry.” 

  
Dean mock saluted. “Yes, sir.” 

Cas rolled his eyes.

As promised, the shower was quick, and in no time, Dean had shifted Cas’ papers aside and thrown himself down on the couch next to him. He dropped a kiss on the top of Cas’ head and threw an arm around him. 

Cas leaned against him, head settling against Dean’s shoulder. “Marie is an excellent student,” he said, “and very creative, but I fail to understand her obsession with robots, ninjas, and ‘subtext.’” 

Dean huffed a laugh. “‘Course you don’t.” 

  
Cas looked away from his paper to glare at him. 

Dean laughed harder. “It’s cute, Cas.”

The glare didn’t cease. “I don’t want to be cute. I’m  _ not _ cute.” 

“Whatever gets you through the night,” Dean said. 

  
“You're insufferable,” Cas said.

  
“You love me anyway.” 

  
“Yes.” 

  
Dean grinned. “Love you, too.” 

The itch squirmed beneath his skin, in his very bones. It was always better, more under control around Cas, but never gone. 

He had to keep the night moving. As much as he loved this time with his husband, the itch was there and needed scratching. He needed to make someone bleed, needed to  _ hurt, _ to  _ kill. _ None of which would happen while Cas was still awake.

“So,” Dean said, “how do you feel about takeout for tonight? Because I really don’t wanna cook anything, and it’s kinda late.” 

Cas nodded. “Chinese?” 

“Sounds good. Want me to order?” 

“As long as you don’t ‘forget’ to order stir fry or something else with vegetables.” 

Dean groaned as he stood up. “Why the hell would you want vegetables?” 

“Because they’re good.” 

This time, Dean was the one to roll his eyes. “Fine. You owe me, though.” 

Cas smirked triumphantly for the remainder of the night. It was especially wide when Dean actually  _ ate _ the stir fry.

Not that Dean would ever admit it, but it was actually pretty good. Maybe a little more than pretty good. 

By the time he and Cas were in bed, it was nearing ten o’clock. Surprisingly early. Cas seemed to have wanted to get into bed as well, which was unusual. When Dean asked him about it, he just shrugged it off and said, “I’ve been working since five o’clock this morning, I think I deserve a break.”

Dean pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Sure thing, angel.” 

Something flashed briefly in Cas’ eyes, there and gone too quickly for Dean to dissect it.

They crawled into bed, Dean curled protectively around Cas, listening to Cas’ breathing even out. Cas was so peaceful like this. Any other night, Dean would have stayed awake, kept watching him until he drifted off. Taking in every bit of Cas he could. But tonight…. 

As gently as he could, Dean extracted himself from around Cas, taking care not to disturb him. The bed creaked as he stood up, but there wasn’t any other movement. Good. 

He crept through the house quietly, grabbing the keys off the counter, wincing when the door squeaked on his way out. 

This time when Dean drove, there was no music. Just him, his car, the road, and the  _ itch,  _ the  _ desire,  _ the  _ need.  _ Clawing its way out from his core, begging for blood and screams. Just one person. That was all he needed. A person and a knife , and it would be dealt with. His knives had been left  _ there.  _ Now, all he needed was a guest. 

There was a homeless person, dumpster diving in an alley that Dean saw halfway into the city. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen. His oversized coat was dirty, and his face smudged with grime. He was no one.

Perfect. 

The Impala slowed and stopped on the side of the road. 

“Need a lift?”

The kid looked up. 

“I’ve also got a spare room, if you need it,” Dean added. 

The kid’s eyes widened. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Hop on in.” 

“How do I know I can trust you?” the kid asked suspiciously. 

Dean shrugged. “Just gonna have to.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“Dean,” Dean said. “You?” 

  
“Alfie,” the kid offered. 

  
“Well, Alfie,” Dean said, putting on his most charming smile, “I’ll ask again: need a lift?”

Alfie got into the car. 

The blood pounding in Dean’s ears with need got louder as Alfie slammed the passenger door shut behind him. Giving him no time to react, Dean seized the back of his head and slammed it against the dashboard. There was a satisfying  _ thunk,  _ and the kid’s eyes unfocused before he passed out. 

Dean hit the gas. 

* * *

The warehouse was on the far edge of the city, far enough out that Dean wasn’t even sure it was a part of the city. 

  
The building was rusting and dirty and old and abandoned. A little cliché, but since when had that hurt anyone? 

Dean parked the Impala behind the warehouse, then ducked outside the car. He popped open the trunk. Shuffling aside some reusable bags, Dean found his buried stash of zip ties. Pocketing a few, he slammed the trunk shut, then went around to the passenger side door. 

Alfie was still out cold. He didn’t even stir when Dean picked him up bridal style and carried him into the warehouse. Didn’t move when Dean used the zip ties to tie him to a chair, or grabbed some duct tape off a bench and covered his mouth. 

He probably had at least ten minutes until he would come to. Ten minutes to kill. Ten minutes to decide what he wanted to do tonight to make him scream. 

Dean kept his knives by a workbench in the far corner of the main room. To the best of his knowledge, it was your standard serial killer set-up; a wide array of weapons of varying sizes, shapes, and sharpness. Above them he had hung newspaper clippings, each with a headline pertaining to him. 

__

_ Body Discovered Bearing Demonic Symbol _

__

_ New Body Found, Not the Work of Angel Killer _

__

_ Cult in Sioux Falls?  _

__

_ One Wasn’t Enough: Two Serial Killers in Sioux Falls?  _

__

_ Serial Killer on the Loose _

__

_ Sioux Falls Murderer Dubbed “Demon Killer” _

__

_ Demon Kills Again _

__

_ Demon and Angel Killers Strike Again _

__

_ Another Body Found With Demon Mark _

__

_ Two Bodies Found In One Night _

__

_ Trail of Bodies Leads Nowhere _

__

_ Heaven and Hell Working Together?  _

__

_ Theories About Angel and Demon Killers Run Rampant _

Some of the most recent articles made Dean the most curious. No longer was he the only person in Sioux Falls with the extra curricular activity murder. And this someone, dubbed the Angel Killer because of their tendency to spray paint coronas over the heads of their victims, had been around since before Dean moved there. Then Dean had started offing people. There was no connection between the two of them. And then, for whatever reason, this Angel Killer had started killing on the same nights as Dean. Why was that? Accidents didn’t happen accidentally. There was something there, more to it that coincidence, Dean was sure. But what? 

Alfie groaned, the sound muffled slightly by the tape. 

Dean grabbed a blade off the table, then turned to look at Alfie. “Good, You’re awake.” 

Alfie was still out of it, struggling to make sense of the situation. His eyes widened when he saw the knife Dean was twirling in one hand. 

This knife, in particular, was one of Dean’s favorites. It had a sturdy handle, and an even hardier blade. Part of it was sharp, smooth enough to slice skin with so much of a brush, while the other part of it was serrated like the jaws of some creature, perfect for ripping and tearing away chunks of flesh. Elegant and savage, all at once. 

Dean smiled at the kid dangerously. “Glad you’re up. Would’ve had to go on without you if you hadn’t woken up in the next few minutes. After this, I’ve gotta get home. Work tomorrow. Husband to get back to.” 

Alfie tried to shout something. 

  
“Not gonna work, buddy. You’re not the first one to try.” He took a few steps closer, then used the tip of the blade to force up Alfie’s chin. “So,” Dean said, “ready to have some fun?” 

  
There was a strangled sob as Dean lightly dragged the tip of the knife down Alfie’s throat, stopping when he reached his clavicle. With a swift motion, he sliced open the front of the kid’s jacket and shirt, exposing the upper part of his chest. It rose and fell rapidly, nothing like the calm inhales and exhales of Cas falling asleep. While that made something inside him flare warmly, this— the raw, unfiltered panic— filled him with satisfaction. 

  
Dean smiled as he made his first incisions into the kid, felt more and more alive with each scream. Happily watched the blood drip to the floor, pool around the chair as he carved. This wasn’t his most precise work, but he only had a little while before he had to be back in bed. It didn’t matter that it was sloppy; it did the job. 

Only after his chest and face had been completely mangled did Dean roll up the kid’s sleeve. With steady hands, he carved his signature into Alfie’s forearm, a seven-like shape that dug into the flesh. Dean took pleasure in the kid's heaving chest, reveled in knowing that his lungs weren’t getting enough air. 

“Thanks, kid.” Dean grinned at him as he made the final line of the design, then drove the knife into his chest. 

Alfie gargled wetly, then—

Nothing. 

His body sagged in the chair, bound and bloody and lifeless. 

The itch was gone. 

Dean admired his work for a few moments, then pivoted to grab a cloth from his workbench to clean the blood off his knife. As he was wiping it down, there was a voice from behind him. 

“So  _ you’re _ the Demon Killer.” 

Dean froze. He knew that voice. 

“I always wondered what you did when you disappeared,” Cas said. 

Dean turned around. 

Cas was standing on the other side of the chair. He looked incredibly out of place amongst the carnage; he was still wearing his ridiculous bee pajamas, only with his trench coat thrown over them. His attention was turned to Alfie’s corpse. “You know what you’re doing,” Cas noted, as though this was a perfectly normal conversation. “It’s quite impressive. I should have expected as much, given your skills in the kitchen.” 

“What are you doing here?” Dean demanded. 

Cas finally looked at him, his expression one of interest. “I thought I said that. I wanted to know what you did when you left at night,” he said simply. “This isn’t what I expected, but… you always are full of surprises.” 

“Why now?” 

“Curiosity finally got the better of me. I figured I could hold off on my plans for a few weeks longer.” 

The gears in Dean’s head started turning. “Your… plans?” Dean said slowly. 

Cas nodded. His eyes flickered behind Dean, to the newspaper articles. 

Dean shook his head as he connected the dots. “No way,” he said. “Absolutely not. You’re not— you can’t be—“

“The so-called ‘Angel Killer?’” Cas asked. 

If Dean hadn’t been struggling to process, he would have rolled his eyes at Cas’ finger quotes. 

“Yes,” Cas said matter-of-factly. “I believe that’s what they call me.” 

“No,” Dean said insistently. “You— there’s  _ no way  _ you’re a serial killer!”

“What makes you think that?” Cas seemed genuinely curious. 

“You're an English teacher!”

Cas fixed him with a look. “You’re a mechanic.” 

Dean stared at him incredulously. “This is not happening.” 

“I can assure you it is,” Cas said. 

“Prove it,” Dean said. 

Cas’ eyes glinted at the challenge. In a few strides, he was in Dean’s space, pressing their lips together. 

_ Oh. Shit.  _

_   
This was definitely happening.  _

When they broke apart, there was some blood smeared on Cas’ face. A smile was beginning to form, his mouth quirking upwards. “Was that enough proof?” 

Dean nodded. He reached out and tried to wipe off some of the blood that had gotten on Cas’ face with his thumb, only succeeding in streaking it more. 

They stood there for a few moments silently. 

At last, Dean spoke. 

“Cas,” he said, licking his lips, “you’re even more of a badass than I thought you were.”

“I know,” Cas said. “The same goes for you.” 

  
“How long?”

Cas didn’t need him to specify. He considered it for a few seconds. “Years. Just a few before I met you.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Uh, I started not long before I came to Sioux Falls, but….” 

They fell quiet again. 

“I’m sensing awkwardness,” Cas said. 

That was so incredibly Cas that Dean had to laugh, the tension broken. “Keen observation, Sherlock.” And then, as though he’d said it a hundred times, “Help me with the body?”

Cas’ smile widened. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

One body-disposal and a drive home later, Dean was laying in bed, curled around Cas. He smiled into the back of Cas’ neck. Yeah. He had a great life.    
  


He worked as a mechanic during the day, and he loved his job. On weekends, he played DnD with his best friend. His brother called him at least once a week from college.

Every day, he came home to his husband. Said husband made some fucking awesome pie. 

  
And, of course, he was a serial killer. 


End file.
